


Vulnerable

by Little Spoon (JaydenNara)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Bottom Derek Hale, College Student Stiles, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenNara/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Derek didn't trust easily. Years of experience told him that people would sooner fuck him over, then kick him when he was down before they would offer so much as a stick of gum. But Stiles... Stiles was different. Stiles gave everything without thought of return, and Derek trusted him with more than just his life.





	Vulnerable

Derek Hale did not trust easily. Trust, like respect, was a privilege to be earned rather than expected. Since the loss of his family to misplaced trust and teenage infatuation, he found that he couldn’t even trust himself. It was a work in progress. Only one person had earned Derek’s unequivocal trust and respect, and consequently his heart. His name was Mieczyslaw Stilinski, though he was far more likely to answer to Stiles.

Derek curled his fingers around Stiles’ as they walked down a darkened path through Central Park late Thursday evening.  Normally, they’d never be out on a weekday, but Stiles didn’t have class the next day, and his shift at the restaurant until late afternoon, so predictably, he had dragged Derek out of their apartment for what he called fun and excitement.

“Basically Confucius’ idea of a good person is someone who shows respect to people, but only the right people, and follows the proper social ritual and etiquette,” Stiles said between lazy licks of his ice cream cone. 

Derek snorted and dragged Stiles down to sit on a nearby bench before the human tripped over his own feet while trying to do too many things at once. “The five cardinal relationships are the basis of Confucian ideology,” he said. “Someone in a position of power does demand a certain level of respect.”

“Yeah, but just because someone is in a position higher than you doesn’t automatically mean that person deserves respect or loyalty, especially when one of the relationships is husband to wife, and trust me, the woman does not come out well in that mess,” Stiles argued. His hand narrowly missed a collision with Derek’s nose. “I mean, come on. By that logic, Scott should have automatically deferred to you and all your mighty alpha wisdom after you off’d your uncle.”

Derek leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the bench behind his boyfriend. “Stiles.”

Stiles hummed and lapped at his ice cream.

“Shut up,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted ice cream out of his nose.

As it turned out, fun and excitement in their world was sitting on a park bench with drippy ice cream cones and debating Confucian thought while the sun sank below the Manhattan skyline. Derek couldn’t complain, even as Stiles questioned his past alphahood while he aggressively cuddled him, complete with sticky, cold kisses that tasted like maple bacon. When it came to Stiles, Derek was a bit of a pushover. All he wanted was to take care of his boyfriend and be needed.

The development of their relationship all came down to a single phone call. Derek had been living in an old cabin upstate on the edge of a national preserve with occasional contact with the pack when a quiet, far too timid voice on the other end of the line asked for help.

At first, he hadn’t believed that the person on the other end of the line had been Stiles because the image of the broken and defeated boy the voice conjured had been difficult to reconcile with the Stiles Derek had left behind. Even more so when Stiles explained exactly what he needed. 

Stiles had wanted to leave Beacon Hills, needed an out, and he needed Derek’s help. Looking back, it was a little odd that Derek hadn’t hesitated, but he could never regret his choice. He’d packed his bags, and driven across the country where Stiles had hopped into the passenger seat of the Camaro the day of his high school graduation, and never looked back.

Stiles shivered beside Derek. The night was humid and comfortably warm, at least for Derek. 

Rolling his eyes, Derek finished his ice cream in two large bites and ignored Stiles’ indignant squawk when he wiped his sticky hands on Stiles’ jeans. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and wrapped it around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles sighed contently and snuggled deeper into the jacket while he inhaled Derek’s scent in what he no doubt thought was a surreptitious manner. Sometimes Stiles had more of a scent kink than Derek with the growing frequency he stole Derek’s clothes that it made him question who the werewolf in the relationship really was.

“I told you it was too cold for ice cream,” Derek snorted.

“It’s never too cold for ice cream,” Stiles argued. His attention was still on the dark sky overhead, but he took an exaggerated lick of his ice cream that made Derek shift in his seat. “Shame we can’t see the stars.”

“Uh huh,” Derek grunted. He couldn’t avert his gaze from the wicked tongue lapping at the melted cream dripping down Stiles’ long, slender fingers.

“Light pollution and all. Makes me miss the cabin a bit,” Stiles sighed. “Not that I could live without internet, or central heating, but you could be all wolfy, run on full moons, chase little Thumpers and Bambi’s. Hunt like the good provider you-”

Derek surged forward and captured Stiles’ lips with his own, effectively silencing the rambling human. Stiles’ ice cream cone plopped wetly against the pavement between his feet. Sticky fingers tangled themselves in Derek’s hair as Stiles fumbled to climb into Derek’s lap without losing their connection. The nearing clip-clop of hooves against the cement pathway and the nicker of a horse was not enough to dissuade him.

Someone conspicuously cleared their throat nearby, and reluctantly, Derek disentangled himself from Stiles, who was nearly level with the bench seat.

A mounted policewoman glared down at them. “Move it inside, Romeos,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said with a mock salute and cheeky wink.

The horse whinnied and shied back several steps when Derek abruptly stood. Animals tended to be skittish around him because their instincts labelled him a predator, and right now, he needed to get his prey home. Stiles barely had time to slip his arms through the sleeves of his borrowed jacket before Derek swept his boyfriend up and flung him over his shoulder, startling the poor horse and leaving the officer to wrestle for control over her mount as Derek sped off towards home.  He didn’t slow when he hit the city block.

Bouncing on Derek’s shoulder with each long stride, Stiles cackled gleefully and slapped Derek’s ass with an open palm. “Mush! Mush!”

When Derek first met Stiles in Beacon Hills, Stiles had been a scrawny sixteen-year-old and the most infuriating little shit Derek had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not much had changed. The skinny, defenceless, spastic human had repeatedly thrown himself into danger heedless of his own mortality and fragility. Stiles had maddened Derek to the point of threatening Stiles’ life in order to save Stiles’ life. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Still did, occasionally.

Despite his best efforts to keep the annoying teenager at a distance, Stiles had proved a worthy ally. He placed his own life on the line for not only Derek, but the pack without hesitation. Derek and Stiles had been tossed into a series of unfortunate heroic rescues with only each other for backup more often than Derek wanted to recall, and it hadn’t stopped when Derek walked away from Beacon Hills, the pack, and what had once been his home. Now, he had a new home. One that did not conform to trivial laws of nature, time, or space.

A low growl vibrated in Derek’s chest when Stiles slid a calloused hand down the back of his jeans and daringly groped his asscheek. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Derek took the stairs of their building three at a time. He barely paused long enough at the door to slam it closed behind them.

Derek flung Stiles onto their bed and ripped off his shirt, the fabric literally tearing away. The human bounced twice on the mattress and scrambled to his knees to meet Derek halfway. Their bodies collided, and the button of Derek’s jeans pinged against the hardwood floor when it popped off under Stiles hastily groping hands. Patience had never been a virtue either had taken much stock in. Eager to taste Stiles’ skin, Derek shoved his leather jacket off Stiles’ shoulder. He barely detached no more than a few seconds to wrench Stiles’ shirt up over his head and blindly toss fling it across the room. Stiles would kill him if he destroyed another one of his graphic tees.

Something crashed to the ground. Stiles’ precariously piled textbooks by the sounds of it, but Derek was already shoving Stiles down into the mattress to suck his mark into his boyfriend’s neck.

“Oh, fuck, Der,” Stiles moaned. His hands fumbled with the zipper of Derek’s jeans, but he managed to shove a hand down the front of Derek’s boxers and wrap his fingers around Derek’s cock.

A low snarl erupted from Derek. He pulled back, dragging down the bed until the curve of Stiles butt was nestled against the straining bulge in his too tight jeans. Growling around his fangs, Derek dry humped Stiles like a horny teenager.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it, big guy,” Stiles groaned. His heartbeat fluttered as he ground against Derek’s cock. “Let go for me.”

Stiles was probably looking for a repeat performance of the full moon two months ago when Derek’s instincts demanded he flip the fragile human over, sink his fangs into the back of Stiles’ neck, pin him in place, and fuck Stiles until his extremely willing and needy boyfriend couldn’t remember his own name. It had been memorable, but not what Derek wanted right now.

Derek whined pitifully and nuzzled Stiles’ neck until his boyfriend stopped grinding against him and began to soothingly rub his back.

“Hey… hey, Derek, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked. The huskiness in his voice had been replaced by a quiver of concern. “Too much? We don’t have to do anything if that’s not what you want. I just thought, you know, that’s where all this was heading is all.”

After gaining enough control over himself to reign in his shift, Derek pulled back, but kept his eyes closed as he panted. His arms trembled under his own weight despite his supernatural strength. A warm hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the comforting touch.

“Der… you’re scaring me.” Stiles’ voice quivered as badly as his hand. It made Derek whimper.

“I trust you.” Derek opened his eyes to find Stiles’ swimming with unshed tears as if he had just told him he loved him. Which he did, and already confessed as much long ago, naked, in Central Park.

The corners of Stiles’ eyes crinkled as he smiled tentatively. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek repeated back, and Stiles’ legs tightened around his hips. “I want to try, tonight.”

“Try?” Stiles repeated dumbly. His brow furrowed, but a flash of comprehension crossed his expression, and his eyes widened. He scrambled to sit up, forcing Derek back to kneel between his legs. “You- you want to try?”

Not once in their nearly four-year relationship had Derek bottomed. They’d been having sex for years. Good sex. Hot sex. Loving sex. But Derek had never been able to reconcile with the idea of giving himself to anyone else after having his body used against him not once, not twice, but many times, by many different people. Even Stiles, once, long ago. Derek had slammed Stiles’ head into the steering wheel of the Jeep, and Stiles had since apologized for parading him around half naked for information.

Derek chuckled, but nodded. “You’ve been patient enough.”

“Dude, this isn’t about being patient,” Stiles said. He shoved lightly against Derek’s chest, rearranging them until they sat cross-legged across from each other on the bed, all animalistic heat and passion gone. “This is about you being ready, and trust me, if you’re never ready, that’s fine too. I don’t want you doing this out of some misguided need to make me happy, because-”

Derek silenced Stiles’ rambling with a finger against his lips and huffed a quiet laugh. “Stiles, I know.”

“You’re sure?”

Derek nodded.

“You’re sure you’re sure?” Stiles asked again, and Derek huffed a sigh, but nodded again.

“Well, alright then.” Stiles playfully slapped Derek on the knee and climbed off the bed. “Okay, we’re gonna need lots of lube. And I mean lots lube. Like copious amounts, gallons, and possibly a dildo. I mean, you’re all like, virginal down there and shit, right? Have you ever even fingered yourself? What am I talking about? Of course, you haven’t. I’m gonna need to stretch you out for my dick, and-”

Derek silently snuck up behind Stiles, wrapped an arm around his waist, and silenced his rambling boyfriend for the second time that night. This time with a kiss.

“How about I go get cleaned up while you get together whatever you think is necessary. I trust your judgement,” Derek said. He patted Stiles’ butt on his way to the bathroom, but he paused at the dividing curtain that separated their bedroom from the rest of the apartment and turned back. His heart fluttered in nervous anticipation. “And Stiles…”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“No condoms. I want you to mark me…” The curtain swished closed behind Derek. “On the inside.” 

Stiles’ breathy whimper of ‘oh fuck’ followed him to the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
